You Are Not Alone
by Venused
Summary: Chandler Bing thinks he's going to die alone. His mother has other plans. Mondler.
1. Chapter 1

**You Are Not Alone**

xx

_This story was inspired into being by the Michael Jackson song of the same name. With MJ everywhere since his unfortunate death it's been impossible not to hear his music and remember how great it was. My Dad even pulled out his old dusty Thriller record. Record! As in plastic, vinyl. Geez, we've come a long way, haven't we? I'll take my iPod, thanks._

_Anyway… I felt inspired to write a fic based on one of MJs songs and this was the result. Keep in mind it's very, very loosely based on the song. (Read: it basically only has the title and general theme of aloneness in common.)_

_This is set in season two, shortly after Mr. Heckles dies. Everything else should become clear as you read._

_As always, enjoy and let me know what you think :)_

xx

Chandler sat on a barstool in his and Joey's apartment, hunched over the photo box he had taken from Heckles' apartment, engrossed in its contents. Inside were dozens of photos of beautiful women, all of whom had nitpicky comments scrawled on the back. The photos were hitting a little too close to home for his tastes, but he couldn't pull himself away. He stole a glance at Heckles' yearbook, which lay carelessly discarded on the countertop nearby, remembering the comments accompanying his schoolmates' signatures, with a pang. He was on route to becoming Heckles and the thought scared the hell out of him.

He had been mostly joking, the previous evening, when he had suggested to his three female friends that he was going to have to become a crazy snake man, but he couldn't shake the thought that he was going to end up alone.

He had called Janice in a panic, desperate to have someone, anyone, who would love him for who he was, and wouldn't judge him. That had been a bust. She had showed up positively glowing, happily married and pregnant. Even Janice, his backup of all backups was no longer an option. He'd never felt more alone, or more terrified.

He tried to cheer himself up with the thought that he was only 27 and had plenty of time to find someone, but that didn't make him feel much better. He could only see the opposite, a mental countdown of his 'prime' years beginning in his head. He shook it to clear it and closed the lid to the photo box, attempting to push them out of mind. If he couldn't see them, he wouldn't think about them. Right?

Wrong.

Instead his brain conjured up images of what could have been his own photo box of rejected women. Feeling another wave of self-pity he buried his face in his hands, feelings the day's stubble on his cheeks.

He was contemplating whether to take a shower, shave and at least try to make himself presentable or to break out the carton of ice cream he knew Monica had stored in his freezer to hide it from Rachel, when the door burst open and Monica sauntered into his apartment.

Chandler smiled at her half-heartedly, pasting on the 'I'm fine' expression he had perfected during his parents' divorce, muttering a quiet greeting to her.

He was out of practice, though, and Monica wasn't buying it. She looked at him doubtfully. "Hey, you look like hell. This thing with Heckles really has you shaken up, doesn't it? You're going to be okay, aren't you?"

Chandler shrugged, pretending not to care. "I'm fine. I'm going to die alone. But hey, that's cool. Tina Turner was on to something. Love has nothing to do with anything."

"Hon," Monica said, looking him square in the eye, "I know you don't really feel that way. Look, pretending to be apathetic isn't going to help you. You've got to decide what you want and make a commitment to change."

Chandler let out a breath, knowing she was right. "I know," he admitted, adding, "It's mostly my fault, I know, but what if it's not just me? What if I really am undatable? Unmarryable? Even Janice has moved on! She was my backup, backup!"

"You are going to be fine," Monica asserted, "Trust me, sweetie. The fact that you're aware of what you want and ready to make yourself available to a woman already makes you ten times more datable than most of the guys I've dated."

"Really?" he asked, neediness seeping into his tone.

Monica nodded. "Definitely." Chandler couldn't help but smiling at the assertion and the confidence with which it was spoken. Half-teasing, half-trying to ease his fears Monica added, "Besides, remember when Ben was born? If neither of us is married by 40… we'll be together, right?"

Chandler scoffed. "Please, you'll be long since married by 40! You're gorgeous and sexy and smart and funny an-and lots of other great things. I on the other hand-"

"Sell yourself short," Monica interrupted, finishing his sentence for him.

Chandler sighed self-depreciatingly. "I wish. There is absolutely nothing special about me. Look at me compared to Joey! He had three dates with three women yesterday! And two of them stayed over!" he said sardonically, "I had no dates with no women, and definitely no one stayed over, in the last month, let alone yesterday!"

Monica moved to sit on the barstool next to him, rubbing his back consolingly. "You can't do that to yourself. Comparing yourself to Joey is not the way to go about things. I know you don't want to date the kind of women Joey dates. You're not a one night stand kind of guy, sweetie. Remember Aurora and how much you hated being her sex toy?"

Chandler shook his head at the comment, "No. I'm past being that picky. If some woman wants me for one night, and that's it, I'll take a date any way I can get one."

Monica shook her head more emphatically, "Chandler, don't do that. You have no idea how much more respect women have for guys like you, who aren't after just one thing. I'd date you before Joey, no question. Joey is fine for a booty call, but that's about it. He isn't the kind of guy women take seriously."

Chandler sat up a little in his seat, proudly, feeling the most upbeat he had since he had first discovered the similarities between himself and Heckles. "Yeah?"

Monica nodded unable to help from smiling at how shocked he was. It was cute. "Of course, women appreciate men who know what they want."

Chandler sighed. "I definitely want a relationship," he admitted, "Who would have thought? The idea of not being in one scares me more than actually being in one. I'm 27. I need to start taking my love life seriously; I'm ready to commit."

"Wow," Monica teased, shaking her head in disbelief that her commitment-phobic across-the-way neighbour Chandler was the one saying those things. "You just sounded like 'dream guy' for a minute there," she admitted before she realized what she was unleashing.

Chandler smirked his eyes widening curiously, "Dream guy?"

Monica flushed, stammering, "What? I didn't say that! You must have misheard me!"

"Okay," Chandler grinned, knowing she was lying, "What did you say?"

Monica blushed deeper, unable to come up with a suitable cover, "I – um, I said, um…"

"You said I sounded like 'dream guy'!" Chandler persisted, grinning madly at her embarrassed face, "Come on, don't be mean! Tell me, who's 'dream guy?'"

Monica met his eyes which were twinkling with unconcealed glee, and said, "Fine," she agreed reluctantly, "but if you ever tell anyone about this… I'll murder you in your sleep."

Chandler gave her the Boy Scout's salute, his solemn expression belying his underlying glee, "Boy scout's honour."

"You were a boy scout?" Monica asked in surprise, "I didn't know that. Did you get any badges?"

Chandler shook his head, seeing straight through her attempted diversion, "Hey, hey! No changing the subject!"

"Fine," Monica grumbled, cursing under her breath, before taking a deep breath and admitting, "Dream guy is what I call my fantasy guy, okay? He's the imaginary dream guy who always calls back, is never late for dates and doesn't freak out at the word commitment. He's considerate, mature, sweet… essentially the perfect boyfriend."

Chandler grinned wider, "Aww," he teased, unable to hold in his laughter.

Monica slapped his arm a little harder than necessary, "Don't laugh at me, Bing," she growled.

Chandler sobered, "No. I really do think it's sweet that you have this mental image of the perfect boyfriend… in a kind of weird way, but still sweet." Monica continued glaring at him, not quite sure if he was being serious, so he added, "Really!"

Monica looked down at her lap, inspecting an invisible piece of lint, "I've never told anyone about that before. Not even Rachel."

"Really?" Chandler asked, shocked. After the stories Ross had told him Rachel shared with the other girls, he was quite willing to believe that they shared everything. If they were willing to share about moles on guys' butts, what else was left _not_ to share?

Monica smiled hesitantly, "Thanks, I think."

"Hey Mon?" Chandler asked, not waiting for her to respond, continuing before he lost his nerve, "You're gonna find your dream guy, some day. I just know it."

Monica grinned back, genuinely touched. "Thanks. Sometimes you know just what to say."

Chandler shrugged off the compliment. "After 27 years of saying the wrong thing, I guess I was due," he suggested. "I did mean it though," he admitted, smiling into her eyes, "You deserve true love as much as anyone I know, Mon."

Monica smiled, fighting unsuccessfully to keep down her flush. "You just keep making yourself look better and better," she teased, "If you keep saying sweet things like that to women, you just might wind up in a long-term, committed relationship."

Chandler grinned, glancing at the photo box on the counter, feeling much better than he had just ten minutes ago, before Monica had entered. "That's the hope."

"Hey, Chandler?" Monica said, "I just want you to know that you're not alone, okay? No matter what happens, you'll have me."

xx

It was one of the rare occasions when the gang was gathered in Chandler and Joey's apartment, rather than the girls'. Monica was pouting a little, unnoticeably, unless one was looking for it, clearly upset that she had been relieved of her hosting duties for the night.

They were watching some TV special, munching on various snacks Joey had miraculously pulled out of some cupboard. 'Since when did they keep food or drinks in their apartment that didn't come with an alcoholic content label?' Monica wondered, shrugging it off and deciding to enjoy a Friday night without a date as much as she could.

At least all the others were dateless, too. Even Joey was dateless, claiming he was too tired from the long night before with another nameless girl. Even Ross and Rachel had decided against going out, opting to spend the night with their friends. Unfortunately, that meant they spent most the night making nauseating googly eyes at one another, reminding the others of their unfortunate dateless status. Monica wished they had gone out on their date, after all. At least then she wouldn't have to watch.

Snapping out of her reverie, Monica felt Chandler, who was squished in the same chair as her, thanks to the lack of seating in the boys apartment, nudge her to get her attention. "Hey, you okay over there?" he wondered, "You've been quiet all night. You didn't even laugh when Rachel told that bellybutton story!"

Monica smiled at him, "Nah, I'm fine. It's just weird not having to do anything, and just hanging out. Usually I'm running around, checking everyone's got snacks and beers… but Joey's taking care of that, now," she half-nodded, half-glared in Joey's direction, as he passed a cold beer to Phoebe, gleefully showing her the ice-filled cooler he had placed next to the recliner and explaining its benefits to his impressed friend.

Chandler couldn't help but laugh, "You're a little crazy, you know that? Just let Joey have his moment, and relax. It's rare he ever feels like an authority on anything."

Monica laughed, nodding by way of admitting he was right, "If there's anything Joey is an authority on, it's cold beer."

"There ya go!" Chandler laughed, pointing towards the TV. "So, just take a deep breath and watch this scintillating episode of," he squinted at the screen, trying to figure out what was on, "E! True Hollywood story," he finished, still looking at the TV.

"Wow, you're good!" Monica giggled, referring to his ability to recognize the entertainment show, "Been watching a lot of E! lately?"

Chandler shrugged, flushing. "What, no! I, uh, just happen to catch some of it while making pancakes for Joey's dates in the mornings," he lied, before realizing the lie didn't make him look much better. He changed the subject, "Besides," he claimed, pointing at the screen, "They're doing Wham! Who doesn't like Wham!?"

"Suuure," Monica laughed again, forgetting her preoccupation with her lack of hosting duties.

"Sure, what, Mon?" Rachel interrupted, from her spot in Ross' arms, her gossip's ear perking up.

Monica grinned at Chandler evilly, "Oh nothing. Chandler just was telling me about his love for Wham!"

Ross nearly choked on his beer in his eagerness to share, "Like them? Hell, he rushed the stage at a Wham! concert in '88!"

"Seriously, dude?" Joey asked, "George Michael?"

"Hey!" Chandler cried defensively, "He was cool, then."

"No," Monica corrected, "Michael Jackson was cool. George Michael was just George Michael."

"Still," Ross claimed, "You didn't have to let him slap you."

"What is this, gang up on Chandler day?!" Chandler whined, looking across his friends at their varying smirks and shrugs. "Oh, so that's how it's going to be?" he groaned, relieved when there was a knock at the door. In his eagerness to get away from his friends' teasing, he didn't even stop to consider who it might be, since all his friends were already present.

He wrenched the door open, surprised to be greeted with his mother, low-cut dress and all. "Mom!" he exclaimed, shocked, "What are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were stopping by?" he wondered, hugging her and leading her into the apartment.

"After our conversation last year, I thought it would be nice if we started to spend a little more time together." Nora retorted, waving her hand dismissively and strolling into the apartment, "Like I need an excuse to visit my only son, anyway!"

Chandler grinned tightly, "No, I guess not," he claimed, muttering under his breath, "but some warning would have been nice. How did you get in here, anyway? You didn't buzz?" he asked, the last sentence coming out as a half-statement, half-question.

Nora smiled coyly, patting Chandler's chest affectionately, "Your downstairs neighbour, Matt, let me in. The boy was falling all over himself to help me however he could. I think he wanted to help me right into his bed, if you know what I mean," she explained, an eyebrow raised suggestively, "I turned down his invitation to 'come see his place,'" she air quoted, "to see you."

Chandler rolled his eyes at her brazen behaviour. That kind of behaviour was the last thing he'd expect from Matt, their shy downstairs neighbour. His mother was probably juicing up the story the only way she knew how, with sex. "Well, Matt _is_ known for his sexual escapades," he eventually muttered, deadpan, not about to call out his mother on the fabricated story, "Thanks for thinking of me, instead," he continued, sarcastically.

Nora winked at her son, "You could stand to be a little more like him, darling," she suggested, "God knows you're not exactly the most take-charge kind of man with the ladies."

"Gee, thanks, Mother," Chandler drawled, quickly changing the subject and gesturing to his friends, who all waved and offered assorted greetings, "You remember Joey, Phoebe, Monica, Rachel and Ross?"

Nora nodded, smiling pleasantly at them all. "You kids look fantastic," she beamed, "You all must be getting some good loving," she declared, "I know that does wonders for my complexion," she claimed, patting her own face and smiling broadly, not noticing Chandler's groan of embarrassment.

She quickly settled into the chair Joey had vacated for her, patting his cheek in a way that was a strange cross between motherly and seductive. Joey grinned his how-you-doin' grin at her, before noticing Chandler's glare and quickly dropping it.

"So what's new with you kids?" Nora asked, looking around at the faces gathered around her, "How's life been treating my little Chandler?" Chandler forced down another groan, and settled back into the seat he had been sitting in, with Monica, before his mother had arrived.

"Well, you could always ask me yourself, you know," Chandler grumbled, fully aware that all his friends' attention was raptly focused on him and his mother.

Nora rolled her eyes good-naturedly, as if he was being unnecessarily difficult, "Okay, then, dear. How have you been?"

"Well," Chandler shrugged, "Work's been good. I got a raise last week."

Nora waved her hand, dismissing the comment, "Who asked about work, darling? I want to hear about you. Do you have a special lady in your life?" she hinted.

Chandler just managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. His mother had all the subtlety of a trainwreck. "No, it's just me," he explained, quickly making a joke to deflect how much the reminder hurt, "I'm going to die alone, cool, huh?"

"Really?" Nora questioned, surprised, "You're young and attractive, dear! You should be playing the field while you have the opportunity! Don't tell me that you don't even have a sex buddy?"

Chandler flushed deeply at the inappropriate comment while his friends tittered uncomfortably, though Phoebe nodded along in agreement, "Mom!" Monica patted him on the back consolingly, her own problems with her mother making it easier for her to sympathize and understand why he sometimes found it so difficult to be around his mother.

Nora shook her head, "Don't be such a prude, darling. You can talk to me about anything, I _am_ your mother, you know."

"Yes," Chandler growled, "I'm aware."

The others exchanged awkward glances, clearly aware of the strained atmosphere developing. Deciding it was time to intervene on Chandler's behalf, Monica spoke up, "So, Mrs. Bing, how is your writing going? I hear the publishing industry is thriving."

Chandler sighed in relief at the intervention; he was so thankful that Monica had come to his rescue that he quickly kissed her on the cheek, causing Nora to raise an eyebrow at them. They did look awfully close, hunched together in that chair…

Half her attention still focused on her son and Monica, Nora responded to the question, "It's been fabulous. My last book, _The Wind Beneath My Skirt,_ has been absolutely flying off of shelves. My agent is already begging for a sequel."

"Great title!" Phoebe nodded, impressed, smirking at Chandler, who groaned, "Chandler's favourite was always _Mistress Bitch_, though, wasn't it, Chandler?" she teased. Chandler merely glared at her, refusing to answer.

"Ooh," Rachel squealed, "Mrs. Bing, I'd love to read a sequel! _The Wind Beneath My Skirt _was one of the best books I've read in years! Uh, would you mind, um," Rachel flushed, "signing my copy?"

"Of course, dear," Nora said graciously, "but call me, Nora. Being called 'Mrs. Bing' only reminds me I was once tied to that old queer, Helena Handbasket," she mocked, "for life!"

Phoebe nodded sympathetically, interjecting, "Oh, I know how that is. I was married to a gay ice dancer. Only I actually liked him, and I never changed my name," she frowned, "So exact same thing, yeah?"

Nora raised an perfectly plucked eyebrow in confusion and continued, "Sure, dear. I would have reverted back to my maiden name, but I'd built up an readership, you know how it goes."

Unsure how to respond to odd exchange, Rachel nodded along pleasantly, "Uh, sure thing, _Nora_," she emphasized, "Let me just go get my book," she agreed, happily, quickly rushing out the door to retrieve her copy of _The Wind Beneath My Skirt_.

Soon as she was out the door, Monica took one look at Chandler's pained face and felt obligated to keep the conversation going. "So, Nora, do you, um, have any plans while you're in New York? Chandler tells us you usually live up in Vermont." Chandler stared at his friend, touched that she had remembered him telling her that, a little in awe of how well she was protecting him from his mother's well-meaning, but often inappropriate questioning.

"Yes," Nora nodded, "Manhattan is much too busy for me; no peace and quiet to write. My penthouse in the city gets neglected too often," she shook her head, "I thought about passing it down to Chandler, here, but you know him," she nodded conspiratorially to his friends, "stubborn as a bull. Won't accept anything he doesn't think he's earned. When he was a teenager, Charles and I managed to wrangle him a placement in Yale. His grades weren't the best, but he passed the SATs with flying colours. He could've gone wherever he wanted, but had this strange teenage ambition to do everything he could to rebel against Charles and I, instead."

The others looked at Chandler in surprise at his mother's revelation, Ross especially looked a little shell-shocked, "Your parents got you into Yale and you didn't go?!" Ross questioned, wide-eyed, "What the hell, Chandler! _You_ turned down Yale?!"

Chandler shrugged, "Yeah, so? My parents essentially bought my way through. Sure, my SAT scores were good, but my GPA wasn't. I knew I was getting a free pass. Would you want to go like that?!"

"Yes!" Ross cried, "Who cares how you get in?! Yale is Yale!"

Chandler shrugged, answering shortly, "Well, I didn't."

Nora pursed her lips, her disagreement obvious in her expression, "How many times do your father and I have to tell you, darling?" she shook her head, "It was all you. All we did was secure your financial backing; they wanted you for you; your school had an excellent rapport with the Ivy Leagues, that combined with your SAT score was enough. All your father and I did was square your finances."

Chandler shook his head, as well, dismissing the comment, "That was nearly ten years ago now," he claimed, "Can we please let it go? I've moved on, I went to NYU, end of story."

He was relieved to hear the door open and Rachel scurry back into the room, a dog-eared copy of Nora's book in her hands. "Look, Rachel's back," he exclaimed with false excitement, successfully diverting everyone's attention.

Rachel presented the book to Nora with a flourish. Nora stared at the well worn copy with a raised eyebrow, "You sure have been enjoying this book, haven't you, dear?" she asked, daintily plucking a sharpie from her purse and flipping open the front cover of the book, preparing to sign it.

Rachel flushed, "Well, yeah. I mean, it was so amazing! The love scenes between Davie and Julia on pages 27, 52, 105, 129, 217 and 239 were sooo amazing," she gushed.

"Wow," Nora smiled at the recitation of precise page references, as she scrawled her name and a short comment to Rachel on the cover, "You sure are a big fan!"

"Yes!" Rachel squealed, thanking Nora and returning to her seat next to Ross, who quickly plucked the book from her hands inspecting pages 27, 52, 105, 129, 217 and 239, as Joey peered eagerly over his shoulder. They both gasped as the lengthy sexual descriptions.

"Wow!" Ross said, his eyes bugging as they took in the words on the page, "I feel like I need to wash my eyeballs!"

"Not me," Joey grinned, snatching the book from Ross' hands.

"Wow," Chandler commented sarcastically, "I've never seen Joey so invested in reading material that didn't come with actual pictures of naked women."

"That's the power of good writing, darling," Nora explained.

"I cannot believe you read that stuff, Rach!" Ross complained, "Wait… how long have you had that book?"

"A couple of months," Rachel answered, shrugging, "Why?"

"Just… we've been together a couple of months," Ross explained, "Just how much have you been enjoying that book?" he wondered, suspiciously, taking in the book's worn appearance.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Are you seriously accusing me of cheating on you with a book, Ross?" she questioned, a little annoyed.

"No," Ross said, an embarrassed waver in his voice as he recognized the ridiculousness of the accusation. He quickly changed the subject. "So, uh, Nora, what brings you to New York?"

Nora, who had been calmly listening to the friends banter amongst themselves, with an amused air, responded to Ross' question, smiling at him in an overly affectionate way, causing Chandler to inwardly groan and sink further back into his seat, as memories of her last visit, and subsequent kiss with his bestfriend returned to mind. Monica squeezed Chandler's hand and wrapped an arm around his shoulders comfortingly, recognizing his strained expression.

"My agent wanted me to do a mini-book tour in a few bookstores around the city," Nora explained, "So, I thought to myself… why not go for a visit with my son, too?" Nora turned her smile on Chandler, "Isn't that lovely, darling? We'll be spending the whole weekend together!"

Chandler fumbled for words, "You – uh, you mean, to say, um, that you're going to be staying here for the weekend? The whole weekend?" he asked a little wide-eyed; he did not look pleased at the thought, though he attempted to paste on a smile anyway, "But – but, what about your neglected penthouse," he said brightly, "Don't you think you should visit it? It must, uh, get awfully lonely, with no tenants for most of the year," he suggested, recognizing, even as the words spilled out of his mouth how stupid they were, "Not that I wouldn't love for you to stay here!" he lied, "It's just we don't have much room."

Nora waved her hand dismissing the problem as insignificant, "Don't worry about that, darling. You don't think I can handle sleeping on the couch for a few nights, if it means I get to see my son? When your father and I first got married, before my writing career took off, we lived in his mother's basement. Worst year of my life," she claimed, "Living in that junk bin with that old hag, your father, I mean. His mother was a saint, putting up with him for as long as she did. I just never could count on Charles to bring in any income–"

"Mom!" Chandler interrupted, wanting to stop his mother's tirade in its tracks, before they were all relegated to hearing about how horrible a husband Charles was, "You can stay here, okay? You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

"That's awfully gracious of you, darling," Nora smiled, "I'm just pleased that we're going to be spending some time together. That is, as long as your girlfriend doesn't mind."

Chandler sighed. "Mom, weren't you listening to me at all? I don't have a girlfriend, okay? I'm all alone. Just me! Thanks for the reminder, though," he drawled, adding as an afterthought, "And for caring enough to listen when I talk."

Nora winked, "Oh okay, I get it. It's a secret. Or it's not serious, yet, just sex, hmm? Okay. I'll keep quiet." She winked again.

Chandler shook his head, baffled, "What secret? What sex? What are you talking about? There's no secret! And definitely no sex!"

Nora clucked in disappointment, "Chandler, darling, I know we aren't exactly close, but I'm your mother. You can tell me these things. No need to be shy. I changed your diapers. We have no secrets between us."

Chandler groaned in embarrassment, again, "Thanks for the lovely – and slightly disturbing, may I add – mental imagery, mother," he deadpanned, to which Nora scoffed, "But I really have no idea what you're talking about. What exactly do you think I'm keeping secret from you?"

"Your relationship with Monica," she explained, matter-of-factly, only to be greeted with several laughs, the loudest coming from Joey and Ross. Monica looked at him apologetically, aware that the others' behaviour would be a hit to his already fragile ego.

Chandler shook his head, Monica nodding in agreement, "There's nothing going on, mother. We're friends."

Nora's brow creased in confusion. "At the very least you must be sleeping together, then."

"Monica and I are not an item, mother," he explained more forcibly, exchanging amused smirks with Monica, "We're sitting in the same chair, so what? You automatically assumed that means we were having sex?"

"Well, no," Nora frowned at the over-simplification, "You kissed her on the cheek, earlier, and you're holding hands. You've been whispering back and forth and sitting close all night. And just now you smiled at one another. Something has to be going on."

Chandler glanced down and his and Monica's joined hands and they both flushed, dropping the link. "No," Chandler said firmly, adding in a more embarrassed tone, "And you noticed all that?" he asked, his blush deepening.

Nora smirked, "I'm a writer, darling; I have to be observant. When sexual chemistry is present one takes notice."

"We're friends," Chandler repeated, for lack of anything else to say. He looked to Monica for help, but she shrugged.

Nora raised an eyebrow suggestively, "Not like any friends I've ever seen," she nodded towards Joey and Phoebe, "Look at them. They look like friends."

"I don't know what to tell you, mother," Chandler shrugged, "We're sorry to disappoint you, but there really is nothing going on, here."

Ross decided to speak up in Chandler's defense, "Trust me, Nora, there is nothing going on between these two," he chuckled, "I mean, my bestfriend and my sister? No way, I'd know it."

"I wouldn't be so sure, dear," Nora said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ross wondered, whispering the question to Rachel, who shrugged, pretending not to know.

Phoebe overheard and answered in a stage whisper, with a wide smirk, "I think she's saying you're not very observant, Mr. Scientist Man."

Ross huffed and crossed his arms, put out. He turned an appraising eye on his bestfriend and his sister, trying to spot what Nora was seeing… Now that she mentioned it, they did look kind of cozy over there. But then, Monica and Chandler?… nah. The thought was absurd. She cut off his toe for God's sake!

As the group of friends resumed conversation around her, Nora drifted off into thought. She really had believed that Chandler and Monica were a couple. There was no way that two people who didn't at least want to be a couple acted like that.

If she knew how young people's minds and chemistry worked – and she was pretty sure she did, if her massively successful books were any indication – then her son and Monica were definitely sharing a bond that was more than just platonic.

Perhaps they were just shy, she considered. Friendship could really put a strain on romance, she thought with a sigh. There was a reason her readers constantly clamored for sex and romance. It was so much more exciting than dull, old friendship.

She would just have to get Chandler and Monica to realize that.

She was Nora Bing, after all; if she couldn't make Chandler and Monica realize they were better off putting their chemistry to good use, no one could.

She had just the plan to make it happen, too.

xx

_Okay, so, originally, this was supposed to be a quick oneshot; just a short little quasi MJ tribute fic, but it's kind of morphed into more thanks to my inability to stop rambling, even for a moment :P I guess I'm just not a oneshot kind of person. I was much better at them when I was younger and even 1000 words seemed like a lot._

_I've decided to cut it off here, instead, and post it, and see if there's any interest in continuing before I dedicate more time to it. It'll probably be a few chapters at most._

_If there's any interest, my plan is to quickly finish this one up, before resuming Everything You Want. I could always return to it later, too, though I wanted to at least post the first part while it was still relevant. _

_As always, let me know what you think :)_


	2. Chapter 2

**You Are Not Alone – Chapter Two**

xx

"Ross, dear," Nora cooed down the phone line, "sorry to bother you at work, but I have to cancel dinner tonight. A book signing has come up, dear, and I won't be able to make it, unfortunately," She listened for a moment as Ross expressed his regret that she wouldn't be able to make it. "Yes, so regrettably, we've lost our reservations my publisher set up at The Rainbow Room for tonight," she lied. The reservations were perfectly in tact; only now for two instead of seven.

"Oh, maybe some other night, then, Nora. You're in the city all weekend, aren't you? Chandler will be so disappointed," Ross lied, "He was looking forward to spending some time with you."

"I'm sure he'll live, dear," Nora said, her tone sugary. Her son would be in a very good mood tonight, if she had any claim over the matter.

"Would you like me to call the others, Nora?" Ross asked, courteously, not wanting her to spend the next half hour tracking down each of his friends to cancel.

Nora sat up slightly in alarm, immediately rejecting the offer, accompanied by a vehement nod, even though Ross couldn't see her. It would mess everything up! "Oh no, you're the last on my list, dear," she claimed, "I've already informed the others. Thank you for offering." They exchanged further pleasantries before hanging up.

Nora glanced at the sheet laid in front of her, with her son's friends' phone numbers on it. One down, three to go, she sighed. The things she did to ensure her son was happy, honestly!

Though she supposed she owed it to him, for his awkward childhood. For all her eccentricity, she wasn't naïve enough to believe that Chandler had grown up in the most balanced and nurturing home.

She scanned the list on the counter in front of her for the next number and immediately set about punching in Rachel's work number. She answered after a few rings. "Hello? Rachel, dear? It's Nora. Listen, I've got some bad news…"

xx

Chandler glanced down at his work suit and straightened his tie, as his cab neared the restaurant he had promised to meet his mother and friends at, appraising it's condition, and whether it would be suitable for whatever his mother had planned for the evening. Catching a glimpse of his watch, he decided it would have to do, he had no time to even think about heading home to change.

As if on cue, the cab immediately pulled up in front of The Rainbow Room. Chandler subtly rolled his eyes at the cabbie's slightly impressed expression. Leave it to his mother's over-stated taste in over-priced, over-hyped restaurants to impress even a New York cabbie. A chain of memories of similar situations occurring as he grew up floated through his mind, only to be quickly pushed aside. He thanked the driver tersely and handed over his fare, quickly stepping out onto the pavement of 49th street.

He had just exited the cab, when he heard someone call his name. Recognizing the voice, he turned to face Monica with a smile, hugging her, and offering in greeting, "Hey. Wow, you look great! Don't tell me you just came from work, too?"

Monica smiled and shook her head. "Nah, evening wear isn't exactly functional in the kitchen. I popped home after work to change. I was expecting to run into Rachel, but she must be running late," she muttered, "Typical Rach."

Chandler creased his brow in confusion, "Rachel isn't home yet? She knows the reservations are at seven, right? It takes her, like, an hour to pick out shoes. Let alone a whole outfit and coordinating lipstick."

Monica shrugged. "Maybe she's already in there?"

Chandler shrugged back. "Only one way to find out," he explained, gesturing towards the entrance of the restaurant, pulling open the front door, ushering Monica in, in front of him. They approached the host, who smiled at them grandly, and asked for the name their reservation was filed under.

Chandler smiled back, offering his mother's name, "Nora Bing."

The host looked back at them and smiled, "Ah, yes. You must be Chandler, yes?" Chandler nodded, confused as to how he knew that. The host continued anyway, "Your mother has picked out the most exquisite dining package for you two this evening. Follow me please."

Chandler rolled his eyes, at the host's exuberance, expecting nothing less from his mother. Monica smiled at his expression and squeezed his hand in silent support as they followed the host through the restaurant, and past a red velvet curtain onto a small balcony on the upper level of the restaurant.

With a flourish, the host waved an arm towards a table for two set up elegantly, complete with flickering candles and red roses lying on one of the plates.

Chandler and Monica looked at one another, confused. Chandler protested, "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong reservations?" he half-stated, half-asked, "There's should be seating for seven of us, reservations placed by Nora Bing?"

The host looked at Chandler warily, before glancing down at his seating chart, quickly rereading the reservation information. "There is no mistake, Mr. Bing," he reassured in a slightly haughty voice, "Your mother has specifically requested a private seating area for you and Ms. Geller, with a view of the cityscape. A bottle of our best red is to be served immediately after seating. Your entire meal is already paid for in full."

Chandler and Monica looked at him, flabbergasted. "Um, okay," Chandler said eventually, stopping himself just short of demanding to see what else was written on that damn clipboard. He allowed himself and Monica to be guided towards their supposed table.

Once they were seated across from one another, and the host had disappeared back behind the curtain, Monica turned wide eyes on Chandler, "What the hell is going on? Where is your Mom? Where's everyone else? And why is there a rose on my plate? Just… what?" she questioned, rapid-fire.

Chandler shrugged, "You think I know? I'm just as confused as you are! Wait!" he exclaimed, as the realization hit. "You know how I said my Mom wasn't like other Moms?" he asked.

"Yeah…" Monica agreed, nodding along in confusion, not sure what relevance that statement had.

"And you know how some Moms like to tell their sons who to date?" Chandler asked, looking at Monica expectantly, waiting for her to catch on.

She didn't and just stared back in confusion, obviously trying to find the connection between the two statements, "Yeah, so? What does that have to do with this?"

Chandler sighed. "My Mom isn't the kind of Mom who stops at telling me what to do," he explained, "She's the kind of Mom who likes to take a more hands on approach."

Understanding finally dawning, Monica gasped, "You mean, she did this on purpose to try and set us up, like on a date?" she wondered, "That's so sneaky and – and underhanded!"

"Welcome to my Mom," Chandler smirked.

"So what do we do?" Monica asked, "I mean, we can't just let ourselves be manipulated like this," she said indignantly, twisting her blood red napkin in her hands in frustration.

Chandler placed a hand over hers, stopping her from wrinkling the napkin, "Look, Mon, we're friends and two grown adults, right? We can handle being set up, without it affecting our friendship, right? I mean, the meal is free. So why not enjoy it? Let my Mom's little plan backfire in her face?" he suggested.

Monica smirked, "I like the way you think! Besides," she admitted, smiling at Chandler across the table, flushing slightly, "It is a kind of romantic setting, you have to admit. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

Chandler didn't have a chance to reply before the host who had seated them earlier returned, reappearing through the curtain, smiling graciously, the promised bottle of vintage pinot noir in hand. "I hope you've had time to settle in," he said, pulling two large wine glasses off the tray he was carrying and setting them in front of Monica and Chandler, "As promised, your wine…"

xx

Two and a half glasses of wine later, Monica was feeling decidedly more upbeat about the evening. The fog of alcohol had removed the awkwardness that the thought they were essentially on a date might have brought.

Monica had to admit to herself it was the best date she'd been on in a while, even if it wasn't exactly intended as one. She felt more of a connection having dinner with her friend than she did with most guys on a first date, and the thought depressed her.

She must have looked depressed, because Chandler seemed to catch on to her mood and tapped her shoulder to get her attention. He offered her a bright smile, probably fueled in part by his consumption of wine, his blue eyes wide and innocent. "You wanna dance?" he wondered, nodding towards the curtain that separated them from the main area of the restaurant, and the music that was wafting through it courtesy of the string quartet that was playing inside, "I'm pretty sure I saw a dance floor on the way in."

Monica realized he was trying to help make her feel better (somehow she doubted he really wanted to dance) and it shot a surge of warmth through her. Making the split-second decision to take him up on the offer before he could retract it, she agreed, "Yeah, that sounds like fun."

He stood up grandly, offering her his hand with a flourish, like a character out of an old movie. "Milady?"

Monica couldn't help but giggle at his slightly drunken display of bravado, and grasped his hand, allowing him to help her up out of her seat. "I feel like I missed the part where I'm supposed to curtsey," she joked.

Chandler shrugged, and laughed, as they passed through the curtain, heading towards the dance floor, where he gathered her into his arms, holding her gently as the soft music played.

"This is nice," Monica smiled, as they swayed lightly on the spot, rocking in time to the music.

Chandler nodded in agreement, "Only because you haven't really seen me dance," he teased, "This isn't dancing. This I can handle."

Monica shrugged, discarding the comment, "Janice had no complaints," she told him.

His brow creased in confusion, as he wondered what she was implying. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Janice told us you took her out dancing to that old Jazz club on 32nd. She was absolutely giving you glowing reviews," Monica explained, adding, "And you know, if some guy did that for me, I think I would, too."

Unsure how to take the almost compliment, Chandler focused on a safer option instead, "Well, it's Janice. Do you really trust her opinion?"

Monica nodded, "About you? Yeah. She really did love you, you know. And I know you loved her, too. Your face when you saw her in the coffeehouse and how happy she was without you… well, it gave you away."

Feeling a little sting at the memory, he nodded, "Yeah. I guess I was a little hurt. But it was all my fault, for being an idiot and letting it go, in the first place," he looked into her eyes determinedly, "But I swear, if I ever find that again, I'm going to hold on for dear life."

Monica grinned, teasing, "Aww, such a romantic."

He brushed off the teasing, adding seriously, "I mean it, though. I really don't want to be alone forever."

"I know," Monica smiled, squeezing his arm, "I was just teasing."

"Usually that's my specialty," Chandler joked, "Since when have you started stealing my thunder?"

"Oh, only since forever," Monica played along, "You're just not very observant."

"Not true," he countered, "I observed that you look beautiful tonight," he claimed, "Red is definitely your colour," he nodded, approvingly.

"Offering fashion advice? Are you trying to prove you're observant, or gay," she teased.

He scoffed, blurting out before he could stop himself, "Trust me, Mon, the things I was thinking about, when I saw you walk up in that dress were the opposite of gay." He flushed when he realized what he had revealed, and she did, too.

Embarrassed, they continued dancing in silence, not wanting to open up an uncomfortable line of discussion.

One word flashed in both of their minds. Friends. We're friends, they reminded themselves. Best not to push that boundary. They couldn't let Nora and her stupid plan get to them.

xx

Monica leaned heavily against Chandler, as they stumbled out of their cab and on shaky legs, wobbling towards the entrance to their apartment.

It had all started with the one innocent bottle of wine that Nora had ordered for them. That first bottle of wine that had inspired Chandler to ask Monica to dance, and Monica to accept his offer, and both of them to dance a little more closely than necessary. When they returned to their table after the awkward moment on the dance floor, another had been ordered. And then somehow, two had turned into three… and tipsy had somehow turned into falling down drunk, their inhibitions effectively lowered even more than before.

Chandler, embarrassed for what he had said, had attempted (rather successfully) to drown the memory. Monica followed his lead, but managed to retain a little more of her lucidity. She was wearing heels, and either she was walking or Chandler was going to carry her home, and the latter was seeming pretty unlikely given how drunk he was.

The fuzzy glow provided by the alcohol had removed most traces of awkwardness from what could have potentially been a very uncomfortable evening. Except, that wasn't all it had done. It had made them a little more brave than they would usually have been; made them say and do things they wouldn't have dared do in normal circumstances.

After Chandler's revelation on the dance floor, what would have been a simple touch of their knees or a friendly smile, suddenly was laced with a potential double meaning. Perhaps it was the romantic setting, perhaps it was purely alcohol induced. Whatever the cause, it wasn't questioned.

They both knew, if one of them were to question it, that the strange atmosphere that had somehow been allowed to develop between them would disappear… and neither of them was ready to let go of it just yet.

Miraculously, they managed to get up the four flights of stairs to their apartments without injuring themselves. Thankfully, the carbide and the several flights of stairs up to their apartments helped to even out the alcohol in their systems a little.

Now they stood in the hallway between their apartment doors facing one another, trying to come up with something to say to end the night without additional awkwardness. The remaining alcohol in their systems did not erase from their minds the gravity of the situation.

They smiled at one another shyly as they stared at one another's feet, not daring to glance up into the other's face. Chandler even scuffed a shoe on the floor in front of him.

"Goodnight Chandler," Monica eventually said, her voice soft.

Pleased the ice had been broken Chandler grinned, responding in kind, "'Night Monica."

"Uh, this is going to stay between us, isn't it?" Monica asked quietly after a moment of silence, "I mean, the others would tease us, and you know how they can be… and with Nora…"

Chandler nodded slightly, "Um, yeah. I think that, um, yeah, that would be for the best," he agreed awkwardly, his cheeks flushing even more than they already were due to the wine he'd consumed. "Want to hug it out?" he asked.

Monica nodded, "I'd like that," she said, moving to step into his arms, allowing him to engulf her in a tight hug. She reveled in the comforting feeling, tilting her head up to his face to ask him what he was going to say to his mother. When his eyes caught hers, however, the question flew out of mind, and all she could think about was him, and how it felt to be standing there, looking into his gorgeous blue eyes.

There was something about the way he was looking back at her, his eyes seeming to soften a little, that convinced her he was thinking about kissing her. She could have even sworn that she felt him start to lean in. Unconsciously, she felt herself doing the same, her eyes slipping closed, her heart beating wildly in anticipation of the moment their lips would meet.

Then, in a flash, the moment was over, she felt him push her gently away from himself. By the time she opened her eyes he was several steps away. Wondering if she had imagined the entire incident out of pure drunkenness, she blinked, but the sight that met her eyes convinced her that she hadn't. A guilty look was written all over his face. He glanced at her, his eyes oozing remorse, even as they refused to meet hers. What was he regretting so much, she wondered? That he almost kissed her?

Because she didn't. Her quickened heartbeat reminded her of that. In the heat of the moment, she hadn't even considered what was about to happen, with Chandler of all people... but now that the possibility of that kiss was gone, she was hit with the realization that she had wanted to find out what it would have been like.

She didn't have long to think on what had happened, or what to say to him to make things right again. He mumbled a quiet goodnight refusing to look a her, and didn't even wait for a reply before slipping into his apartment, placing a door securely between himself and Monica.

Monica stared at the closed door, feeling a wash of sadness surge through her. His eagerness to get away from her was obvious. Was she really that repulsive? He'd kissed Janice and liked it! Janice! Was she really that much worse than Janice?

She leaned back against her apartment door, sliding to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, feeling sorry for herself. Chandler was her friend and nothing more. Other than a brief attraction in highschool she'd never felt anything for him. That had been years ago. So why did she care if he wanted to kiss her or not? She shouldn't want to kiss him, so it shouldn't matter if he wanted to kiss her.

Too bad shouldn't and didn't were different things.

xx

Chandler sighed as he closed the door to his apartment, leaving Monica in the hallway outside, probably wondering what the hell his problem was. He didn't blame her. Okay, he was a little tipsy, but that was no excuse for almost kissing her! She was drunk, too, and he would not be the horrible, terrible, downright opportunistic friend that took advantage of her when she was drunk. He had more respect for her than that.

Sure, the thought of kissing her had sent his heart racing… but no. It was wrong to do that to her when she was drunk, no matter how drawn to her he was. She wasn't feeling the same way about him, he was certain, and if anything happened, she would regret it in the morning when she came to her senses.

No, it wasn't worth the aggravation of being rejected by yet another woman. One whose opinion he actually cared about.

His heart still pounding in his chest, he greeted the people gathered in the apartment. He smiled half-heartedly at Rachel and Ross, but reserved a steely glare for his mother.

She smiled back innocently. "Hello, darling. You're home late. Did you get my message.. about being unable to make dinner?" she asked, her eyes daring him to oust her scheming in front of the others.

Chandler's glare hardened. "No, mother. My secretary must have lost the message?" he drawled, sarcastically, knowing that no message had been left. "Hey, I've got a funny story for you. Same thing happened to Monica. Quite a coincidence, right Mom? We ended up having dinner, anyway, since they held your reservations."

Nora feigned ignorance, an innocent lilt to her tone, "Oh, well, that's nice, you weren't alone, then. Did you two have a nice time?" Chandler rolled his eyes, fighting down his frustration at her attitude.

"You had dinner with my sister at The Rainbow Room, dude?" Ross cut in, surprised, "Alone? Like a date? Wasn't that expensive, anyway?"

"No," Chandler said shortly, "We did not go on a 'date,' we just had dinner together, and no, it wasn't expensive. Apparently my Mom left her credit card number, so it was paid for. So, thanks for dinner, Mom," he drawled, knowing she had planned it that way all along.

Nora smiled indulgently, explaining, "Some of the more upscale restaurants ask for a credit card number as collateral on reservations, darling. It's atrocious trying to get a booking, sometimes, you know, they want to make sure their patrons will show for their reservations." She waved a hand dismissively, "No matter, I'm happy to foot the bill, as long as you and that lovely little friend of yours had a nice dinner?" she half-stated, half questioned, clearly searching for a clue as to how the night had went.

Chandler wasn't prepared to give her that satisfaction. He shrugged. "Oh, it went okay." He faked a yawn, finding he didn't have to try all that hard, the night's activities catching up with him, "I'm kind of tired... If you don't mind, I'll be heading to bed," he said, walking towards his room, "You don't mind taking the couch, do you Mom?" he snipped; with all her scheming he wasn't feeling so eager to give up his bed for her comfort, anymore.

Nora grinned at him, "Of course I wouldn't mind dear. I told you about how your father and I-"

"Yes," Chandler interrupted the story, rolling his eyes, "You've told us how Dad was a good-for-nothing husband and you had to live in his mother's basement on a pull out couch. We heard it all. We get it, you hate Dad. Goodnight," he growled, angrily, slamming the door to his bedroom.

Nora looked at the closed door with a raised eyebrow, before turning to Ross and Rachel, who looked a little shell-shocked by the outburst. "He's always been a little overly sensitive about his father," Nora explained smoothly, knowing that had nothing to do with his anger, "He never liked it when Charles and I had our lovers' spats. He was always such a sensitive boy." Ross and Rachel bobbed their heads in understanding. "I think I'll go talk to him," Nora suggested, standing and opening the door to her son's bedroom, without even bothering to knock.

"Mom! I'm getting dressed!" Chandler exclaimed, closing the door, before it was fully open, causing Ross and Rachel to crane their necks to see what was going on. "Jesus! Don't you know how to knock! I'm practically naked in here!" He called through the door.

"Honestly, Chandler!" Nora rolled her eyes, speaking to him through the door, "I'm your mother! It's nothing I haven't seen before!"

Chandler poked his head out of his bedroom, now wearing his pajamas, "Still, haven't you heard of knocking?" he grumbled, "I hear it's the polite thing to do nowadays," he muttered sarcastically.

Nora rolled her eyes again, pushing past him, into his bedroom, and closing the door behind them. "Are you mad at me?" she asked, bluntly, "You seem awfully touchy, tonight, darling. I don't know what I could have possibly done–"

"Don't know what you could have done?" Chandler sneered, "Hmm, let's see… where to start... how about trying to set me up on a date with one of my best friends? Or pretending not to know anything about it?" he grumbled.

"Oh, that," Nora said breezily, "I was just trying to give the two of you a little helping hand, dear. The chemistry is there."

"Well, thanks for your 'help'" Chandler air-quoted, angrily, "but I am perfectly capable of running my own love life, thanks very much. Please get it into your head that Monica and I are friends. We have a great friendship, but that's it."

"Are you telling me that nothing happened tonight at dinner?" Nora hinted, folding her hands and eyeing his dresser, pretending to be disinterested, "Not even after the… wine?" she asked, pointedly, unable to keep a curious note from sneaking into her voice.

Chandler turned pink, and she had all the answer she needed. "No, mother," he denied, his voice somehow sounding less forceful than before, "We ate, we drank, we danced and we came home. End of story."

"You danced with her?" Nora asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chandler groaned audibly, wishing for probably the millionth time that he had a better brain-to-mouth filter. Of course his mother would pick up on that tidbit of information and use it for evil. "Yeah," he said, his voice strained, "but only because we were drunk," he argued, adding accusingly, "Thanks to you!"

Nora smiled and shook her head in disagreement. "Okay, so perhaps I had some bearing in the two of you ending up at that restaurant together, in the setting you did," she grudgingly admitted, "But the two of you were the ones who took advantage of it," she claimed, with a sly smile, knowing she had him caught, "You decided to stay for dinner. You drank the wine. You chose to dance. That had nothing to do with me. Don't try to pin those decisions on me, darling. You weren't anywhere, or doing anything you didn't want to be. In fact… I think you very much wanted to be doing exactly what you did."

Chandler flushed deeper, knowing his mother was right. "I – I –" he stuttered, unable to come up with an argument, eventually changing the subject, "Still, you had no right to decide who I should be dating! I'm not just a character in one of your books that you can mess around with at leisure! I'm a person, I have feelings and a mind of my own!"

Nora crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, questioningly, stating, "You're acting like I didn't help you with something you've been dreaming about since you've known Monica."

Chandler ran a hand down his face in frustration, "Even if that were true, which it isn't," he insisted at little too loudly, "It's irrelevant. You had no right to intervene in my love life! I'm not a little kid who you can tell what to do and not do. Or date."

"You're still my son," Nora explained, reaching out to tilt his face so he was looking at her, "I want you to be happy. I'm sorry if I upset you, but I'm not sorry about what I did. I thought it was what you wanted. Any mother wants what's best for her children, and you're still my baby, no matter how old you get."

Chandler sighed heavily. He didn't agree with his mother's methods, but at least she thought she was doing what was best for him. "Look," he claimed, wanting to avoid further arguing, "I really am tired. Can we just put this behind us for now and worry about it tomorrow?" he suggested.

Nora grinned genuinely, and winked, "You got it," she agreed, though she had no intention of leaving things there. She was certain about one thing; her son wasn't as against the idea of Monica being his girlfriend as he was pretending to be. That meant one thing: she'd have to talk to Monica. "We're going to be spending the weekend together, I think we can work something out."

Chandler groaned inwardly at the reminder that she would be around for the better part of the next two days. "Goodnight Mom," he said, monotone, as she reached to kiss him on the cheek, returning the sentiment, before exiting his bedroom.

Nora smiled at Ross and Rachel, who were still out in the living room, watching a Discovery Channel special on penguins, Rachel looking half asleep with boredom, her head leaning against Ross' shoulder. She jolted to attention when Nora exited Chandler's room.

"He's sleeping, now," Nora whispered conspiratorially, "Worn out from a hard day at work, the poor thing," she lied, already moving towards the door.

Rachel looked at her questioningly, "Where are you going, Nora?"

"Oh, nowhere, dear, just across the hall. Chandler said that there's no extra blankets over here. I'm going across the hall to borrow some from Monica, to make up the couch."

Rachel snorted, "Sounds like these boys," she laughed, "Never prepared for anything."

Ross laughed, and nudged his girlfriend, "Like you should talk! If it weren't for Monica you'd be worse off than them… unless having 200 pairs of shoes is considered being 'prepared for anything.'"

Rachel elbowed Ross in the stomach, causing him to groan in pain, "Oww! Geez, your elbow is sharp!"

"There's more where that came from," Rachel threatened, "If you don't learn when to shut up!" Ross pretended to zip his mouth shut.

Nora smiled as she watched the two interact, thinking about how that could be Chandler and Monica, if she played her cards right. Ross and Rachel were so involved in their playful bantering they didn't notice her exit the apartment, heading for Monica's.

Since her son was being so stubborn, Monica was her best hope, now. Perhaps she'd be a little more receptive to some coaxing.

Nora didn't bother knock on Monica's apartment door, figuring the brunette wouldn't mind, and slipped into the apartment, shocked to find Monica sitting on the couch, hugging a pillow, tear tracks lining her face, a tub of ice cream perched on the coffee table in front of her, a spoon sticking out of it.

Nora raised an eyebrow at the sight.

**xx**

_Thanks all for reading, and leaving your fabulous comments. They do inspire me :) I'm glad you all like Nora, too, because she's my absolute favourite secondary friends character :) She's just so outrageous and fun._

_It's been a while, I know (life gets in the way)… but hey, it's done now :P I know this chapter is a little on the transition (aka boring) side, but bear with me, the next chapter is that last one, so it'll pick up a bit, I hope :P After that service shall resume with Everything You Want :)_

_As always, let me know what you think in a review :) I love hearing what people have to say :)_


	3. Chapter 3

**You Are Not Alone – Chapter Three**

xx

Nora approached the couch slowly, not quite sure what to make of Monica's distraught state. She'd just returned from dinner with a close friend, sure, maybe it had been set up as a date by none other than Nora herself… but how badly could things have gone? Bad enough to leave her in tears, with a tub of ice cream for comfort? It was almost like the after effects of… a breakup. If that was true (and she really hoped it was, for it would validate the idea that Chandler and Monica were meant to be together) perhaps this would explain Chandler's mood, she considered. Only one way to find out…

Nora sat down on the couch next to Monica gingerly, carefully brushing aside an edge of the blanket covering the other woman, to make room for herself. Maternally, she touched Monica's knee. "Are you alright, darling?"

Monica sniffed, and wiped at her face, futilely attempting to remove evidence of her tears, before looking up at Nora with watery eyes. Nora smiled at her reassuringly, trying to encourage her to open up, but Monica only shrugged, feigning indifference, before quickly diverting her attention to the ice cream on the table in front of her, grasping the spoon and shoving a large spoonful of rocky road in her mouth. "I'm fine, Nora," she mumbled around the mouthful of ice cream.

Nora didn't believe her, and Monica knew it. "You're crying dear," she stated carefully, "Clearly something is upsetting you. I have a feeling that it's the same thing that's been bothering my son. I know I'm not _your_ mother, but I am willing to listen. Maybe I can help."

Monica blinked back more tears at the offer, desperately wanting to talk about it, but afraid of what saying the words aloud would mean.

Obviously aware of Monica's internal struggle, and taking a guess at what was bothering her, Nora said coaxingly, "Chandler does care about you, dear."

A lone tear splashing down her cheek, Monica nodded, whispering almost inaudibly, "I know. But – But.."

"But?"

"But," Monica paused, torn whether to admit her feelings to Nora, "that's it. We're friends. I mean, I'm happy about that, he's a great friend, and I love our friendship, but after tonight… I don't know…" she trailed off, pursing her lips.

Nora smiled inwardly, mentally patting herself on the back. She had known something was there. Chemistry never lied. "I think you do," Nora challenged, "Saying you don't, and lying to yourself isn't helping anyone."

Monica focused glassy eyes on Nora, aware that though the actual words hadn't been said, the older woman knew exactly what she had been thinking. Nora continued, "He feels the same, Monica. He does. Trust me on this, I'm his mother."

"The same as what?" Monica asked meekly.

Nora arched an eyebrow questioningly, folding her hands in her lap patiently, "We aren't really going to play this game, are we, dear?"

Monica sighed, exhaling shakily to steady the adrenaline rushing through her at Nora's admission, refusing to meet her eyes. "I – I guess not. Um, what makes you so sure, Nora?"

"He told me," Nora lied. He felt that way, she was sure of it. What harm could one little white lie do? "He's felt this way for a long time."

Monica shook her head stubbornly, "No. He must have just been saying what he thought you wanted to hear. Tonight he–" she abruptly stopped.

"What happened?" Nora coaxed, gently, squeezing her knee gently, as Monica poked the spoon in the ice cream, avoiding her eyes.

Taking a shaky breath to steady her nerves, Monica admitted stoically, "We almost kissed." She didn't know why, but she had the uncanny feeling that she could trust Nora, even despite her earlier setup ploy.

Nora smiled widely and squeezed her hand, causing Monica to look at her forlornly, not understanding her excitement. Wiping the smile from her face, and taking on a more serious expression Nora asked, "And I'm guessing that he was the one who stopped it?"

Monica nodded wordlessly.

Nora waved her hand dismissively, "That means nothing."

Monica looked downcast, "He didn't just stop it, Nora. He stopped it and ran. Speeding bullets move slower. He didn't want to be anywhere near me, he – he –" she sniffed.

Nora smiled again, shaking her head. "Is that what you're so upset about? You think he's rejecting you, darling? You have a lot to learn about men, dear. This is a classic case of men's insecurities and little dating idiosyncrasies. I use this kind of thing as a plot device in my books all the time. My readers eat it up."

A semi-hopeful expression inched onto Monica's face, and she swiped at another tear, "You mean you think he's scared that I might not want him?"

Nora nodded enthusiastically, "You've got it, dear. Now, of course, he's a man, so he'd never admit it out loud, but if I'm the best selling romance novelist in New York City, and you can bet your ass I am, you've hit the nail on the head. He needs a strong woman, Monica. Someone who can take the first step, show him the way."

Monica looked at her helplessly, "So what do I do now?"

xx

Chandler walked heavily up the steps to his apartment, already loosening and removing his tie, though he was several feet away from the apartment he shared with his bestfriend. He balled his tie in one hand, digging in his suit pocket with the other for his keys.

He was so busy with the task, it wasn't until he was right in front of his door that he noticed the folded piece of plain white paper taped to his door, his name scrawled neatly in the centre of it. He stared at it for a moment, trying to identify the writing, but came up blank. It was too neat and girly to be Joey's. Curiously, he plucked the sheet off the door, and unfolded it, only to be greeted with a single line of text reading:

_Why did you have to go and leave my world so __cold__?_

He stared at the cryptic message, his brow furrowed, unsure what to make of it. And why was the word cold underlined? Was it supposed to have some kind of special meaning? Whose world had he left cold? Was this some weird joke concocted by an ex-girlfriend?

He flipped the paper in his hands, trying to find something to identify who had left the message and why. Written on the back of the sheet was one more single line of text: _find me._

Find me? He scratched his head, flipping over the paper again, and staring at the first line. The underlined word… cold? Was he supposed to find something cold? What was cold? A refrigerator, maybe? He pushed his keys into the lock on his door, twisting the knob, abruptly stopping before the door was open. No. It couldn't be the fridge… who else would have access to his locked apartment? He certainly hoped it wasn't Joey whose world he was leaving cold.

What else was cold? The air conditioner? Maybe, but he wasn't even sure exactly where that was located in the building, though… The ice machine! Treeger had recently had an ice machine installed in the lobby, for tenants' to have cheap access to ice after several complaints. He pulled his keys out of the door, returning them to his pocket, and absently wrapped his balled up tie around his neck, immediately heading back down the stairs he had come up only minutes ago, too curious to bother going home and changing. The piece of paper in hand and his destination firmly in mind, he took the steps down to the lobby two at a time, his adrenaline rushing as he wondered what he would find, and if it was even the right place.

It seemed to take forever to reach the lobby, and he felt his heart sink, when on approaching it he didn't see anyone or anything. Not even another piece of paper. Clinging to straws, desperate to find something, he pulled a dollar from his pocket and inserted it into the ice machine, even though he really had no use for ice at the moment. He pulled open the lid when the lock clicked and peered into the ice machine, grinning widely when he found another note taped to the inside of the chamber. Immediately forgetting about the bag of ice, he snatched the note from its hiding place, and flipped it open, eager to read what else the mysterious sender had to say to him, and desperate for any clues to her identity. He hoped it was a her, anyway.

_Whisper __three__ words and I'll come running._

He stared at the sentence for a moment, rereading it several times. Three words? I love you? Who would feel that way about him? Janice maybe? Perhaps she had given up on her stupid marriage? Who else could possibly have those kind of feelings for him? He mentally scanned though his dates from the last couple years, coming up blank. He had been on plenty of dates, sure, even had a few steady girlfriends, but nothing had ever really come of any of those relationships. Nothing to warrant something as grand as this, anyway.

Shaking his head, and figuring the best way to find out who was sending the messages was to get to the end of the trail he studied the message. The underlined word was three… what could that be? The third floor!

He rushed back up the stairs, taking several at a time. When he reached the third floor stairwell he looked around, desperate to find her, but it was just as empty as the lobby. He opened the door to the third floor, and looked down the hallway, only to be met with nothing out of the ordinary. No additional note, no people, nothing.

Feeling a surge of disappointment, he wondered for a brief second if someone was sending him on a wild goose chase to make him look like idiot. Maybe it was stupid, seeing as all he had were two handwritten notes, but he had an instinctual feeling that that wasn't the case.

He looked back down at the note in his hand. What else was three? Apartment three? Wait… he knew the person who lived in apartment three. Lowell from his office. Maybe someone from the office had included him in this? Maybe the mystery sender was someone from work who had enlisted Lowell's help? Hope rising within him at the possible lead, Chandler practically skipped back down to the first floor where Lowell lived, and knocked on his door impatiently.

Lowell answered the door with a wide grin and Chandler immediately knew something was up. A flash of horror shooting through him, Chandler wondered if the mystery sender he was chasing was Lowell himself. He was flamboyantly gay and proud of it. What if somehow he had unwittingly sparked Lowell's interest? Making a mental promise to any higher power willing to listen, Chandler promised he'd never make another joke at his friends' expense if only it wasn't Lowell… Please, please don't let it be Lowell…

Unsure how to state his unusual request, and still worried it was Lowell himself sending the notes, Chandler stuttered, "Uh, hey, um, Lowell. This is probably going to sound really weird to ask, but, uh…"

"Yes?" Lowell asked with an faux innocent lilt and a face-cracking grin, giving himself away.

Chandler scowled at the bad acting. "Look, Lowell, do you have anything for me by any chance?" he asked awkwardly.

Lowell nodded, clearly enjoying Chandler's discomfort. "Maybe. Someone might have dropped something off for you," he claimed cheekily. At Chandler's annoyed expression, Lowell extended another piece of white paper to him, from behind his back, with a flick.

Chandler grinned and accepted the note, pleased to see the handwriting matched the style of the previous two. Too curious to resist, he asked uncomfortably, "Hey, um, Lowell? This isn't from you, is it?"

Lowell laughed loudly at the suggestion. "Honey, you might be cute, but you're _definitely_ not my type."

Chandler flushed in embarrassment and relief. "Do you know who left this, then?" he persisted, "It was woman, right? Was she pretty? Does she work with us?"

Lowell shrugged, "My lips are sealed, buddy. I've been told not to say anything. Seeya at work tomorrow," he claimed sunnily, quickly shutting the door in Chandler's face. Even with the door between him and Lowell, Chandler could have sworn he heard his coworker mutter 'lucky bitch' through the door.

Shrugging it off, Chandler opened the note Lowell had given him, reading it so quickly that the words didn't register in his mind until he had read it two more times.

_Just the other __night,__ I thought I heard you cry._

Night. That was his clue this time. It was night everywhere. Where could the next note possibly be hidden. A clock perhaps? But what clock? There were no clocks that he knew of located in the building.

Staring at the note, Chandler read the word several more times. Night? Mentally playing the quick thinking game he had played with Phoebe so many times, he passed several words through his head.

Dog… Cat.

Umbrella… Rain.

Carrot… Vegetable.

Fun… Boring.

Lamp… Light.

Joey… Ross.

Night… Sky.

Sky?

Wait… the sky! The roof! He could see the night sky from there! His adrenaline pumping, his heart pounding in his chest as a result, Chandler made his way up to the roof, scanning the abandoned area for someone, anyone, who might have written the notes, but the area was empty. Only a few abandoned lawn chairs littered one corner. Chandler sighed in disappointment, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

He looked around the rooftop dejectedly one last time, deciding he must have gotten the wrong locale, when he spotted a flash of white on one of the rusty old lawn chairs. He hurried over, carefully picking up the piece of paper, unable to help but feeling a little let down. Part of him had been hoping this would be the end of the trail. A roof top reunion under the 'stars' (not that you could see many in New York City) would be romantic, and it had been the third note. Three was always the magic number in fairytales. Was it so much to want a real life fairytale?

Well, at least he had found the right place, he thought with a sigh. He opened the next note reading the clue that had been left:

_I am here with you, even when you're __far away__._

Chandler read the note, feeling his blood run cold, as a conversation he had had with Monica a few months ago rushed to mind. A conversation about _fairytales_ of all things.

"_Why do all fairytales start with the words: 'Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away?'" Chandler wondered. The question seemingly coming, out of the blue, Monica stared at him for a moment, in confusion._

_He waved a book with a collection of fairytales he had snagged off Monica and Rachel's bookshelf at her, in explanation. "This book has, like, 20 different stories in it, but they all start the same way and end with 'happily ever after.' Don't fairytale writers have any imagination?"_

_Monica shrugged. "You're asking me? Fairytales are old, as old as the oral tradition. Besides maybe they did happen far, far away?" she teased, "I don't imagine you've seen too many princesses and knights on white horses running around New York City recently?"_

"_Okay," Chandler conceded, "Maybe not, but any good writer should know to leave the audience with some hope for the future. What's the point of reading fairytales if they're only going to happen far away, never where you live? Or that they only happened once upon a time? Are those authors saying fairytales and that kind of love is extinct now?"_

"_Yeah," Monica giggled, "Didn't you hear? Chivalry is dead."_

"_Haha," Chandler deadpanned, "Seriously, though."_

"_Seriously?" Monica shook her head, and laughed at his persistence, "Seriously, you have far too much time on your hands to think about these things, buddy."_

_Chandler shrugged innocently. "I'm just sayin' someone didn't think that through," he said, closing the book and studying the cover, "Hey, what do you and Rach have a collection of fairytales sitting around for anyway? You saving it for your future kids, or what?"_

"_No," Monica laughed, "I took a class on literature and fantasy in college as an elective. I kept all my books."_

"_Oh, so you know all about the far, far away debate, then," Chandler said, his tone serious. Monica cracked a grin and punched him in the arm, causing him to smile at his quip, which resulted in them both bursting into laughter._

Chandler sighed shakily at the memory, running his tie through his fingers nervously. Monica. It had to be Monica. Far Away. It couldn't just be a coincidence. What else could far away be, anyway, without actually being far away?

With a definite sense of purpose, Chandler headed back down into his apartment building, clenching the collection of notes tightly, desperate to talk to his friend, and find out what it all meant, and why she was doing this.

He didn't even bother to knock on Monica and Rachel's apartment door, letting himself in, knowing it would be unlocked. He would have to remind them that leaving their door open all the time was dangerous, he mentally noted.

He was disappointed to find the apartment completely empty. Cautiously, he made his way through the living room towards Monica's room, his footsteps on the hardwood sounding unnecessarily loud in the silent apartment. He was half-expecting her to burst out from behind her bedroom door crying it was all a joke, but it didn't happen. He turned the knob, and was greeted with a bedroom that was just as empty as the rest of the apartment. Her bed was neatly made (in a very Monica fashion) and the room was spotless, not even a pair of shoes out of place, or an abandoned watch on the night table to indicate she'd been home after work.

Taking a deep breath, his heart beating wildly in his chest, almost to the point of pain, Chandler headed for the bookcase. There, lying on the top of a pile of books was the collection of fairytales that had incited the whole conversation.

Chandler swallowed the lump in his throat, desperately trying to steady his nerves enough to pick up the book. Reaching out a shaky hand, he picked up the volume and flipped open the front cover. Empty. Feeling his heart sink, he flipped the pages idly through his fingers, even turning the book upside-down and shaking it out. He'd been wrong. It wasn't Monica, after all. Feeling an overwhelming sense of rejection, he moved to close the book, when a piece of paper fell out of the dust jacket. He could have sworn he felt his heart stop. He didn't even dare look down at the floor, where the paper had fallen, attempting to prepare himself for the possibility that it was just a library slip, or something equally benign.

Inhaling deeply, he glanced down, retrieving a piece of white paper, just like all the others that he had collected so far. Tentatively, almost as if scared the note would burn him at any moment, he unfolded it.

_You are not alone, for I am here with you._

No underlined words. But the same writing. Yes, it was definitely the same writing, he decided, holding one of the previous notes side by side for comparison. He stared at the paper for a moment, in complete shock. It was Monica. The last few days had been awkward to say the least. They had hardly spoken, except for their friends' benefit, awkwardness ensuing after their almost date and almost kiss. What had changed?

He looked at the sentence written on the paper, trying to find some sort of definitive next step. Where was he supposed to go now? He scoffed at the irony. The note said he wasn't alone, but it seemed like he was pretty damn alone at the moment, he thought, looking around the empty apartment. Was she somewhere waiting for him, if he just knew how to find her?

A little upset at himself for being unable to figure out this final piece of the puzzle, he kicked the bookshelf, which only resulted in a throbbing toe. He plopped down on the couch, reading the note for the twentieth time, looking for something he had missed that would give him a hint.

Should he wait here for her until she got home? Or maybe she was at the coffeehouse? Or work? But, then he'd end up running around the city, when maybe she was waiting for him somewhere.

Maybe he should call her. Deciding that was his best option, he punched in her cell phone number on his. No answer.

He glanced at the note again. Still nothing came to mind.

Frustrated he balled up the note, angrily. Running a hand through his hair to calm his nerves, he decided if he was going to sit here waiting on pins and needles, he needed a beer. Anything to make the wait a little more bearable. Knowing the girls wouldn't have any beer in their fridge, he headed across the hall his own apartment, unlocking the door with a little more force than necessary and letting himself in. He was so upset with himself that he didn't even notice Monica sitting on one of the barstools at his counter until he'd already retrieved a beer from the fridge.

"Monica!" He exclaimed, embarrassed. Had she been here the whole time? He scowled, trying to make the connection between her location in his apartment, and the note, but could find none. Half in a daze, he set the cold beer on the counter, unable to tear his eyes away from her.

She smiled at him, "Hi, Chandler."

He held up the notes still in his hand, including the balled up one sheepishly, admitting quietly, "I got your notes."

She nodded, a slight smile present, "You didn't like the last one," she half-asked, half-stated, quietly, a touch of sorrow in her tone, and he knew she was assuming the worst.

Not wanting her to get the wrong impression, he admitted, shyly, "I couldn't find you."

A half-smile ghosted across her face, her tone tentative, "Looks like you just did." Their eyes met and they stared at one another nervously, unsure how to break the strange tension between them.

Chandler took a step closer to her, sitting down on the stool next to her, taking her hands in his, wordlessly, not breaking eye contact. She stared boldly back at him, begging him to make the first move and let her know exactly what he was thinking, even though his compassionate stare should have given it away.

The last thought that crossed his mind before he pressed his lips against hers was that with the combination of vulnerability and strength radiating from her sapphire blue eyes, he couldn't remember them ever looking more beautiful. They both melted into the kiss that they now knew they had been waiting for since long before Nora had ever decided to put her matchmaking skills to work. The intensity built as they allowed the gentle contact to express their feelings for one another in place of words, their tongues brushing, lips colliding expressing everything that they needed to know in that moment. Talking could come later.

When they finally pulled away, it was Chandler who spoke first, his hand still cupping her face, his thumb caressing her cheek, "I liked your notes a lot."

Monica looked down shyly and shrugged, "I didn't know how else to say it."

"Except with a Michael Jackson song?" he teased, gently, knowing from her soft smile, and the happiness absolutely radiating from her that she wouldn't be offended.

A wider smile broke out across her face and she nodded, playing with his fingers, where they were still holding hands, "I told you he was cooler than George Michael," she said with a smile.

Chandler laughed, "I guess you did. But, what made you think of that… of all things, as a way of telling me? You could have talked to me, you know, we're best friends. Not that I'm complaining, I've never had anyone do anything like that for me before."

Monica flushed, "I – I guess I thought it was romantic, and your Mom–"

Chandler groaned at the mention of his mother, interrupting, "My Mom? Seriously? My Mom put you up to this? Even after her earlier botched matchmaking scheme? That woman really doesn't know any bounds."

Monica's blush deepened, "Not exactly. She just sparked the idea is all. I, um, I sort of confessed to her what happened the night she set us up, when we almost… you know, kissed, and she suggested something big to let you know how I felt. I wanted you to know without saying the words, just in case you didn't feel the same way about that night," she explained unsurely.

He could sense the melancholy in her tone, and guessing why, he admitted, "I didn't stop that night because I didn't want you Monica, I stopped because it would have been wrong. You were drunk out of your mind. If – if anything was ever going to happen, I wanted to do it the right way."

Monica smiled faintly again, "I understand. So what do you think, did we do it the right way?"

Chandler kissed her cheek gently, letting her know his answer, explaining, "No one has ever done anything that cool and – and romantic for me before. When I got the first note I was desperate to find out who was sending them. I had no idea it was you until I saw the words 'far away,' and then, I just knew. It was definitely the 'right' way."

Monica smiled wider, "I'm glad you liked it. I wanted it to be special."

Chandler smiled back, "I've just got one more question. What did the last note mean? How was I supposed to find you, I mean? I was killing myself trying to figure out where you were!"

Monica squeezed his hand apologetically. "The night before your Mom showed up, after Heckles died, you were looking through his photo box, I promised you that you were not alone, and that I was there for you," she explained, "We were sitting right here. In this same spot. I thought it would be a romantic place for the start of us, what with you not being alone anymore."

Chandler nodded, understanding dawning, even as frustration with himself for not making the connection set in, "That was really clever," he said, "I found you by accident. I came over here to get a beer to calm my nerves."

A smirk twitched on the corner of her mouth, "Maybe it was fate."

"Maybe," Chandler agreed, a smirk to match hers growing on his face, "Do you remember that night, before you promised me that I wouldn't be alone, and you were talking about 'dream guy?'"

"I remember," she nodded, her eyes clouding in confusion, unsure why he was asking.

"Well," he drawled, with a grin that let her know a joke was coming, "Do I fit the bill?"

Monica looked at him appraisingly, pretending to think, "Hmm, yeah, you know what, I think you just might. I'll train you well."

"Whatever gets the happily ever after, right?" he teased back.

Monica arched an eyebrow, teasingly. "I thought those only existed in fairytales, not big bad modern day NYC?" she asked, jokingly.

"Maybe I was wrong about that," he admitted with a grin, before standing up from the stool he was seated on and grabbing her hand, pulling her towards his barcalounger. He sat down, pulling her into his lap, causing her to giggle. He brushed his lips against hers, again, reveling in that fact that the feeling was already becoming familiar to him. Familiar, but new and electric at the same time.

He couldn't remember ever feeling less alone in his life.

xx

_Annnd that's a wrap. Took us (a.k.a me) long enough to get here for something that was originally supposed to be a oneshot._

_Thanks for reading, and I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter, because I had a blast writing it :) I had a ton of fun with the concept, which honestly, I had no idea I was going to do until I wrote it. In case anyone was curious, all of Monica's notes feature lines, with a tweak or two to fit the story, from the fic's title song You Are Not Alone by Michael Jackson (as Monica mentions)._

_As always I'd love it if you'd leave a review. I'm open to the possibility of an epilogue, but I don't really think this needs one, honestly, so I'm open to opinions on that, too :)_

_I've been a little busy recently, but I'm hoping to get a couple chapters done _on Everything You Want _before I go to Europe with some friends in a couple weeks. We'll see :P_


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